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There is a lot of shit I deal with in my life. And Timofey is right: most of it isn’t mine.
“What would you suggest I do?” I snap. “Should I start a crime syndicate and have my loved ones murdered when they bother me?”
“I’d suggest not having ‘loved ones’ to begin with,” he replies coolly. “That has always worked for me.”
“What about Emily?”
He freezes. It’s not the flinch of prey in headlights. More like he turns to stone. The only motion is him running his finger over the rim of his glass again and again. The only sounds are the soft wail it emits and the quiet murmur of the restaurant around us.
“What about her?” he says at last.
“You know what I’m asking. Who was she to you?”
Timofey angles himself towards me. It feels ominous. Like I’m the suspect on a cop show, as the searingly bright light swivels onto my face and the bad cop cracks his knuckles and gets ready to take his pound of flesh.
“I’d rather know who she is to you,” he rumbles. “You seem to care a lot about her.”
“Did you love her?”
My voice wobbles but doesn’t break. I’m proud of that part, although I’m mostly ashamed of the rest of the question.Did you love her—that’s the root of my concern, isn’t it? I want to know whether or not Timofey was in love with another woman.
As if it matters. As if his answer will change anything for me.
Spoiler: it won’t.
Timofey inhales and exhales slowly. Every second that passes feels like it takes fifty years. “I don’t love anyone. I never have. Not in the way you’re asking.”
“The locket in your office would beg to differ.”
“You know what else would beg to differ? The fact Emily was dating Rodion after I introduced the two of them.” He must see my face fall, because his lip twitches up in a subtle smirk. “Pity. Did I ruin your ‘jilted ex-lover murders his soulmate’ theory?”
“Emily and Rodion were dating?” I shake my head.Did I misidentify Timofey as the man in the locket?No. Definitely not. Even as young as he was in that photo, he’s hard to confuse with anyone else. “I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself. I have no reason to lie.”
I snort so loud the woman at the table nearest us turns her head. I cover my mouth with a dainty hand and scoff at Timofey from behind it. “Of course you do! You have every reason to lie. The most important one being that you may beresponsible for her murder.”
Timofey’s brow pinches as some unreadable thought passes through his head. Before he can say it, the waitress returns with our food.
“Here you are, sir. I hope everything is absolutely to your liking.” She leans much further than necessary across the table to slide Timofey his plate of miso-marinated black cod. It also looks like she’s undone a button or two on her uniform. Absolutely shameless.
My plate, on other hand, is dropped in front of me without so much as a word.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asks Timofey exclusively.
Without looking up, he waves her away. “No.”
I hate the zing of pleasure his curt dismissal sends through me. I shouldn’t care. In fact, I don’t. So what if he flirts with a waitress? It doesn’t matter to me. Nope. I could not care less.
And yet I bite back a smile as the woman’s face falls and she turns dejectedly towards the kitchen.
The moment she’s gone, Timofey turns to me. His ice blue eyes on mine are a reminder of who I’m dealing with.
I just accused him of murdering his ex-girlfriend—or Rodion’s ex-girlfriend, if Timofey is to be believed. I don’t want his attention on me any more than is necessary. I should be grateful for the distraction of the bimbo waitress.
“I don’t waste my time lying to people who hold no power over me,” Timofey says. His eyes sweep over me like he’s double-checking to make sure I’m as harmless and unthreatening as he thought. And that little twitch of the mouth again confirms it. “I’m primarily interested in why you care more about what happened to someone who is already dead than you seem to care about what happens to you right now.”
“Is that another threat? You’ve issued so many that I’m starting to lose track.”
